


Sick

by orphan_account



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Michael has issues, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Rated Teen for Potentially Triggering Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ever since his last break from Ogygia prison, Michael has been weird with food. And that's an understatement.





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Michael's a super sensitive guy with a lot of trauma who feels things very deeply, so I think it's plausible that he would develop an eating disorder as a means to cope with all of it. Plus Wentworth Miller himself as talked about struggling with eating issues as a result of depression, and I've gone through my own process with an ED, so I decided to write a short and mostly depressing fic with a potentially uplifting ending. Except maybe it's not really uplifting. Idk. But no one dies at least?

Michael was hers again, yet Sara looked at him with agony and pity.

She could swear he was thinner now then he had been when they had rescued him from that brutal penitentiary in Yemen. But when she mentioned his weight he would withdraw quickly from the conversation, or become defensive.

But she noticed the signs—she was, after all, a doctor. She had noticed him pinching at the thin bit of skin on his stomach, frowning upon nonexistent fat. His ribs showed through his fragile skin, which was as pale as a sheet of paper.

He didn’t eat much around her and their little Mike, but she had also taken note of the plastic cake container in the trash can littered among various candy wrappers. He spent long periods of time in the bathroom after meals, so she didn’t doubt that bingeing and purging was a part of his daily routine. 

Those watery blue eyes. That ghostly skin. The bones protruding below his skin, the hoarseness of his voice…he was sick, she acknowledged. And growing sicker by the day. 

They rarely talked about it, except once he forgot to lock the bathroom door and Sara walked in on Michael crouched in front of the toilet bowl, as tired and gaunt as ever. 

“Michael, you need help,” she said assertively. 

“Sara, I, uh—“

“There’s no excuse for this, Michael. You’re killing yourself.”

Michael said nothing as he pushed his body up from the ground, reaching his delicate arm across himself to flush the toilet as he emerged. He tried to exit the bathroom but as he made his way to the door he collapsed mid-trip. 

For a few seconds, Michael looked like a corpse crumpled on the floor, already half-decayed into a mere skeleton. As he regained consciousness, Sara darted beside him and knelt next to his frail body. 

“I’m so sorry, Sara,” Michael cried. “I’ve let you down, again, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t let me down, Michael,” she replied as she hoisted his tall but disturbingly weightless body into her arms, carrying him out of the bathroom and onto the bed. “But we’re going to the hospital.” 

She clutched his bony fingers gently in her own soft hand and whispered, “I still love you Michael. You’re just really sick.”

He couldn’t disagree.


End file.
